:parseltongue:

Red bricks flashed past and a high-pitched whistle shrilled in the distance. He pushed through a sea of monochrome coats, ignoring the exclamations, feet scrabbling on the floor for a hold as he was swept up by the crowd. He fought harder, shouldering past businessmen and workers alike, his heavy trunk battering his legs as he ran.

"Watch it!"

Tom ignored the shouts following him, and he continued to dart through the mob of commuters lining the platform. Where was the bloody train? Where was platform 9¾? He was roughly shoved to the side as he collided with another passenger.

"Get out of here!"

Tom picked himself back up off the floor, right hand stretching out and grabbing his trunk's handle, and hurtled down the platform again, reading the signs speeding past above him...Platform Nine...Platform Ten...where is it? He pulled to a stop and thrust his hand into his coat pocket, drawing out a crumpled letter. He frantically read it, making sure he had made no mistake. He hadn't.

"All aboard!"

A conductor shouted in the distance, and a train on his platform slowly trudged to life. A sharp whistle erupted in the air again, cutting through the mutterings and noise of the crowd. Tom stared at a clock on the wall, the minute hand gradually creeping towards twelve, the hour hand practically hugging eleven. Tom swore. This wasn't happening. He'd just entered the world of magic; he wasn't about to leave it.

:Nagini!: He whispered hurriedly into his scarf. :Help me!:

:I thought you told me to not come out?: Nagini grumbled, still peeved from an earlier conversation on that very matter.

:Never mind that! Where's the bloody platform?: Tom spat, hands rapidly clenching and unclenching into fists, and knees trembling with nerves.

:I don't know, I'm a –:

Tom took off again down the platform, head swivelling around wildly as he went. That damned professor! He should have told Tom what to do, where to go…it was all his fault! If Tom didn't get to Hogwarts, it would be because of him. If he didn't get to Hogwarts…would they bother coming back for him? Would they send someone to check on him, to bring him there? They surely couldn't leave him at the orphanage – he was magical! They owed him his education, right? But…he was just a mudblood to them…they wouldn't care about him…

He'd make them care about him.

"Ooof!" Tom was thrown roughly to the ground by a careless shove. He was up on his knees, furious, about to bite out an angry retort when he came face-to-face with a brick wall.

…What?

He got onto his feet, uncertain, his anger forgotten, before turning around. There was a crowd of people on the platform, bustling about and shouting goodbyes to passengers on the train. The scene was very similar to what he had seen a few seconds ago, but it was also undeniably different. The people were dressed in long flowing robes, churning a rainbow of colours, as parents voiced their farewells and waved at schoolchildren hanging out the windows of the train.

It was the most beautiful thing Tom had ever seen.

Impressions be damned, Tom ran for that train. His coat was flying around him, and he stumbled over his long green robes as he collided with the red door, hands trembling around the handle and yanking it open. Finally! He flew up the steps, and collapsed to his knees in the hall, his breath coming out in short pants and his hair sticking to his forehead in perspiration. Not ten seconds later, the door shut and Hogwarts Express started slowly moving along the tracks, quickly picking up speed. Tom barked out a few short and hysterical laughs.

"Are you okay there?"

A girl. Tom glanced up, peeking between his lashes at a group of children around his age that was staring down at him, all wearing muggle clothes. Tom immediately straightened up, his relieved grin tightening into a neutral expression.

"I'm fine." Lies.

"Oh – if you're sure. We saw you running for the train…" The brunette trailed off, uncertain. Tom glared at her.

"I'm fine." Tom repeated, his tone making it clear that he didn't want the girl to bring it up again. Ever. The girl gave him a weak smile, which Tom didn't care to return. They didn't have to worry about missing the train, or hiding their schoolbooks, or getting lost at The Leaky Cauldron. A professor – maybe even his professor – probably explained it all to them and gave them perfect directions to Diagon Alley, perhaps even accompanying them. Their parents would know all about it too, and make sure they had all the money they needed for clothes and books – nothing second-hand, and they definitely made sure that their children got to the station on time and knew where to go.

They may all be mudbloods, but they were nothing like him.

The ugly flower of jealousy bloomed deep in Tom's heart, and his glare turned icier. The five-or-so children now gathering in the hall were taken aback by his fierce expression, and looked around helplessly at each other. One boy, wearing smart slacks and a cotton blouse, spoke up.

"You can join us in our compartment, if you want. You were pretty late to the train – the others are all full."

Tom sneered, nobody slighted him. Tom looked the cluster up and down, slowly, so they would have no doubt as to the message he was conveying.

"No, thank you." Short, sharp, and faux politeness.

The smartly-dressed mudblood bit his lips, his eyebrows screwing together. "We're being polite! You don't need to be so rude about it."

The others in the group nodded their heads and murmured in agreement, frowning at Tom. As if he cared. Tom turned his nose up at them. "Then do the polite thing and get out of my way. I need to find some...better company."

"Oh. You're one of them." This time it was a different girl speaking, taller than the others, pretty blonde curls bouncing across the shoulders of her lace dress. She spat out her words with scorn and distaste.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, genuinely confused.

"A blood supremacist. I met a few while shopping in Diagon Alley with my parents. Didn't know that I'd find a kid stupid enough to believe in it at Hogwarts, however. And you look like a first-year. We're just as good, and we've got magic too – we're no different. And I'll prove it." The girl stated the last part proudly, and half her friends looked at her with admiration, the other half looked at Tom with anger.

Even in the face of so many glares, Tom couldn't be happier. They thought he wasn't a mudblood! Nagini's constant jokes had long since alienated Tom from the idea of being from muggle birth, even though he couldn't prove he wasn't. Maybe, he could pretend he wasn't…maybe, he could fool everyone into thinking he was from a wizarding family… well, apart from the professor. He almost grimaced at the reminder.

"As I said; I find myself in need of superior company." And he strode off down the opposite end of the corridor, not looking back.

:Good riddance.: Nagini muttered from around his collar of his robe, under his woollen scarf.

:Quite.: He replied humourlessly. :Wait…you don't even know English.: Tom accused, while scanning the frosted-glass windows on the doors for somewhere suitable. It became evidentially obvious that all the compartments were full, for mindless chatter could be found drifting from nearly all, and the ones remaining stubbornly silent were otherwise locked. Tom theorised that there must be some sort of silencing spell on them or the children inside were just dreadfully dull.

:I could tell by the stink.: Nagini lazily replied, snuggling her head deeper into Tom's scarf. Tom raised an eyebrow, though it would go unnoticed by the snake.

:Really?: Tom queried, disbelieving. As if she could tell they were mudbloods by smell alone…

:Of course.: Nagini confirmed proudly, and Tom snorted.

:Of course.: He repeated, deadpan, and ignored Nagini's little hiss of approval. He was keeping a careful ear out for compartments which had young occupants and those which were speaking in measured tones. The last thing Tom wanted was for the journey there to be filled with asinine babble.

Calm, youthful yet mature voices slinked out from behind the panels of the compartment he was currently walking past. Tom pulled short, and leant over nearer to the door to try and make out some of the words, but to no avail. Nevertheless, this one seemed to be the most yielding of the lot so far, and so he raised his hand and knocked sharply on the door.

The flow of voices stopped, a beat of silence, and then the wooden door was sliding open a few inches to reveal a frame of a boy with a haughty face and immaculately brushed hair. The frowning boy was adorned with dark blue robes with silver piping that swept down to his laced boots. His face was pinched and evaluating Tom, who refused to wither under the glare of a boy only a year or so his senior.

"Who are you?" The schoolboy questioned, glancing down at Tom's green robes and eyeing his obviously muggle coat. Tom stopped himself from shrugging it off, choosing instead to ignore the scrutiny.

"I'm Tom." He replied shortly, taking care not to include his surname. They'd find out eventually, but Tom would not rather have them think he was a mudblood from the get-go. "And you?"

"Virgil Parkinson." The boy replied, enunciating his last name slowly, as if to provoke an answer from Tom, who just nodded. The name was old and strange, from a culture Tom didn't know of, and it made his own moniker seem feeble and common in comparison.

"May I come in?" Tom wasn't going to beat around the bush, his feet were hurting and he was exhausted from all that running around King's Cross. Whose stupid idea was it to have a fraction for a platform anyway?

Parkinson looked back into the compartment, having a silent conversation with someone before meeting Tom's eyes once again.

"Sure." He answered whimsically, but his warning glare was anything but. Tom smiled in return, ducking into the compartment when Parkinson stepped back. He was met by four youthful faces, some staring at him in cold appraisal and some with unabashed curiosity. All the boys were dressed in elegant robes, and all the children were throwing not so subtle glances at his coat. Tom internally cursed. He tried not to make a show of removing the coat, folding it and placing it on the trunk rack above their heads, where the offending article of clothing was soon joined by Tom's hefty trunk. He had been careful to keep his scarf on and not jolt it out of place, its sole purpose to conceal the forbidden serpent beneath.

With that sorted, he took a seat next to a boy with curly black hair, who shuffled along to make room for Tom. It was hard not to feel somewhat awkward, because said boy then launched into conversation beside Tom, not acknowledging him in the slightest. Being awkward was not something that suited Tom, and so he put effort into relaxing into the seat and pretending to not feel so ill at ease.

"So did you get rid of it in the end?" The boy questioned, looking imploringly at a dusty-haired boy sitting opposite him.

"As I was saying," Dusty-haired drawled, sending a pointed look to curly-hair, "mother had no choice but to dismiss the house-elf. Nasty little thing."

Curly-hair laughed, startling Tom. "It's a wonder she kept it that long!"

"Hmmm." Dusty-hair didn't look amused, and turned his gaze to Tom. "Say, what's your surname? You didn't tell Virgil. You're not a mudblood, are you?" He said the last part accusingly, prompting the others to cast disgusted looks at Tom, who refused to cower.

"Of course not." he responded smoothly. "I'm a Riddle. It's foreign." He added, attempting to put any rumour about his origin to bed, once and for all. Unfortunately, the boys didn't want to comply.

"Doesn't sound foreign." Grey-eyes sneered, who was sitting opposite him and seemed to be the oldest of the lot. The rest nodded in agreement. Tom knew that he needed to dispel those dangerous thoughts, and fast.

"It is." Tom laced his words with a familiar compelling force, one he had only recently recognised, and soon the boys loosened their suspicious glares and relaxed back into their seats, their temper ebbing away. Tom resolved to be more careful in the future – he could not allow them to think him a mudblood, and he wouldn't be able to persuade everyone otherwise as he did just now.

"Say," he started, desperate to promote other conversation, "you haven't introduced yourselves to me." Time to let them feel like the awkward ones.

"Oh." Curly-hair shrugged sheepishly. "I'm Orion."

"Orion Black." Grey-eyes clarified, his gaze not leaving Tom. "I am Cygnus Black, a distant cousin, I assure you."

"Reuben Greengrass." Dusty-hair drawled, and Tom wondered if he often reduced his speech to a dragged out warble. Other than Parkinson, there was only one other boy who hadn't introduced himself; a sandy-haired boy with owlish hazel eyes.

"I'm Thaddeus. Thaddeus Nott – first year. You're a first year too, like me and Orion, aren't you?"

Tom nodded. So – these would be his future year mates. Tom didn't know quite what to think.

Nott continued. "Virgil and Reuben are second years, and Cygnus is a third year. Both of them are Ravenclaws, and Cygnus is the only Slytherin here – but not for long! Me and Orion will be Slytherins too."

"What about you?" Cygnus had suddenly leant forward, pressing in on Tom's personal space. The others all looked at Tom expectantly.

"What about me?" He stalled, trying to decipher both Cygnus's cryptic question and Nott's senseless talk. What was a Ravenclaw? What was supposed to be slithering? Was it some sort of spell? Tom wished for the umpteenth time that he had had the money to buy some books beyond the ones that had been required for the curriculum, maybe then he would know more about wizarding culture and not be stuck on questions like this.

Cygnus smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile – it was cold and fake and wrong on someone else's face. "What house do you think you'll be in?"

House? What – lodgings? Where did Tom think he would be staying? He knew Hogwarts was a boarding school, but this question seemed to hold a lot of weight judging by the looks the others were giving around the compartment. Tom felt very out of his depth.

Maybe this was what Nott had been talking about?

"Ravenclaw?" He answered, though it came out more like a question. Cygnus sank back in his seat, and smiled slightly. "I don't see it. But…maybe it's for the best." And he looked Tom up and down again. Tom felt angry, and he didn't even know what for – but he knew disrespect when he saw it.

The door to the compartment slammed open.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

"Nothing, thank you. For any of us." Cygnus coolly answered, silencing Orion who had started to eagerly recite off a list of goods. The old lady tutted, but nevertheless proceeded to briskly close the door and Tom could hear her wheeling her trolley down the hall.

Tom risked a muttered question to the sulking boy next to him.

"How long's the journey to Hogwarts?"

Orion gave him an odd look, but answered anyway. "A good few hours. It'll be dark when we get there."

Tom sighed – he was at a crux. On one hand, he didn't trust any of these boys and he wanted to gain some more insight on Hogwarts. On the other hand…

"I'm going to try and get some rest. Wake me up before we get there." He directed this at Orion, knowing it probably wouldn't go over well with Cygnus. Miserable sod.

Orion nodded, still somewhat upset with Cygnus over the loss of his sweets.

Tom's last thought before his eyes closed to black was that he hoped he wouldn't have any of those strange nightmares.